


heart as my compass; stars as my path

by forestpenguin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Finn Needs A Hug, Force-Sensitive Finn, Gen, It's alluded to, Late Night Conversations, Minor Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso, Minor Finn/Rey, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, Nightmares, POV Finn (Star Wars), Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestpenguin/pseuds/forestpenguin
Summary: Finn is lost, struggling to find a place he can call home. Rey, it seems, has quickly adapted to life as a Jedi; and Poe has always been home. But Finn?(He sees this boy, recognizes his spirit, and decides to do this one last time.)





	1. the sailor’s steadfast guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for finn week day 4: home

Finn shifts under his bedsheets for the umpteenth time that night, massaging his temples in the hopes of coaxing sleep into his harried nerves.

It doesn’t work.

He contemplates his options, blinking slowly at the dim grey shadows of the ceiling.  

Finn concedes when his limbs begin to ache. He tosses off his too-warm covers and carefully eases himself up into a sitting position. He’s slow to get up off the bed, still worried by his back injury. Finn was hesitant to be so sluggish – and visibly weak – at first, but Dr. Kalonia had soothed his anxieties enough that reason drowned out the disapproving voice in the back of his mind.

The durasteel floor is cold against his bare feet. He rises slowly, feeling his weight shift off the bed and to the floor. Finn’s gaze travels over the room, adjusting his eyes to the scant light offered slit of light under his door. He methodically slips on his socks and boots, then –

His eyes fall on Poe’s jacket _._

 _His_ jacket, because Poe’s never had staples running across the back.

Finn shrugs it on before keying open the door. The lighting of the flagship is the bright, hazy grey of the middle of the sleep cycle.

There’s not a soul in sight.

Finn knows if he heads down to the docking bay he’d find pilots and mechanics working on their ships, full of stories they’d be eager to share. He might even run into one of Poe’s pilot friends – though it felt like _everyone_ on the ship is one of Poe’s personal friends. He could walk even further, towards the bridge, and sit down to chat with the personnel and analysists typing away at their datapads.

He decides to walk in the opposite direction towards the back of the ship, away from everyone else.

Kalonia had lowered his dosage of pain meds yesterday, and with it, his ability to sleep. Finn’s struggling to quiet his thoughts. They’re full of convoluted images he wishes he could forget. As he makes his way down the corridor he’s grateful for the anonymity the night offers him. The odd solider he passes by doesn’t spare him a second glance.

Perhaps they recognize him but just don’t care.

It’s a pleasant change from the daycycle.

Finn decides to walk until he’s tired enough to sleep. His only accompaniment is the sound of his footsteps echoing off the wall in an uneven melody. The Resistance ship is worn in a way the First Order’s are never allowed to be.

Unique.

Finn’s eyes flutter shut as he traces the route from memory. It’s an exercise he did as a cadet: find his way around base with one less sense. It hones his focus, calms his thoughts.

The scent of the next day’s meal prep wafts in the air. It’s a stark contrast to what he’s used to smelling on ships: disinfectant, strong cologne, and scorched plastoid. Finn finds himself stopping at the entrance to the mess, hand resting against the doorway.

With some thought he can recall the scent of the ship’s docking bay. Grease, oil, jet fuel. The bridge smells like what Poe calls the worst caf in the galaxy, and the tiny training gym reeks of ozone discharge and sweat.

Finn opens his eyes. There’s a container of water in his room but he wanders towards the water dispenser beside the stack of recently sanitized food trays. He senses someone watching him as he fills a cup with water.

When he looks up, his gaze is met with the sight of a Rodian watching him from the kitchen. Finn nods in her direction before she returning to her work.

Finn turns to regard the empty mess. It’s eerie during the nightcycle. He’s only ever seen it overcrowded with hungry, loud, beings. Now, it’s empty, a yawning space sprawled before him. Only now does he appreciate the large viewport that runs the length of the room. Finn chooses to take a seat pressed up against the transparisteel.

The entire galaxy seems to unfold in front of his eyes. Star systems glitter in harmony. A part of him, born on Jakku, revels in the beauty of it all.

A smile briefly touches his lips before it fades, giving way to the part of his brain trying to list the star systems he can identify.

Finn’s rankled by the realization he’s forgetting some. A lump builds in his throat as his heart picks up in paces.

_What would Phasma think?_

His heart squeezes, and suddenly he can’t breathe. 

_Which of these systems was he taken from?_

“Hello?”

He jumps. Finn hadn’t heard any footsteps, but by the time he’s turned to greet his visitor, he’s donned a smile.

“Hi.”

The stranger ducks his head slightly.

“Did I spook you?”

Finn grimaces.

“So sorry about that.”

“No worries.” Finn spends another moment staring at the stranger – slight build, military posture, mouth set in a firm line but his brown eyes sparkle – before his eyes drop to the man’s hand on a chair, and Finn realizes he’s being rude.

“Do you-”

“May I-”

He stops, grinning, realizing they’d both begun to speak at the same time. The stranger shakes his head with a half-smile.

“May I sit with you?”

Finn juts his chin at the seat. “Go right ahead!”

The stranger takes the seat across from Finn, nodding at him as he sits.

 “Did I disturb you?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it, I just…” Finn’s voice trails off and he grips his cup tightly.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

The stranger nods solemnly. “Yeah. Not uncommon.”

“You too, huh?”

The stranger’s mouth quirks upwards. “You could say that.”

Finn tilts his head.

“I’m used to it by now.”

Finn nods in understanding. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the starlight cascading in from the viewport casting bright reflections the surface of the table. Finn idly sips at his water to calm his nerves.

He’s surprised he doesn’t feel any dismay at the loss of his solitude. Finn had originally hoped to avoid all sentient contact for the night, but something about this man – the way he speaks, the sense of depth in his eyes, _something_ about his aura - compels him to listen. To ask for more.

Finn likes it.

The man’s eyes rise to meet his and Finn realizes he’s been staring.

“I’m-I’m Finn,” he says in hopes of recovering some dignity, and extends his hand.

“My name’s Cassian.”

 _Cassian._ Finn ponders the name as he shakes the other man’s hand. He doesn’t recall hearing it, but he can feel Cassian studying him closely, as if waiting for a reaction.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well.”

Cassian’s voice is low and rough, weathered yet soothing. He speaks with an accent Finn can’t place, only admire. _He carries home with him,_ Finn thinks. _That must be nice._

He runs his tongue across the roof of his mouth. Would he sound any different, had he been raised by his birth family? It’s a sobering thought.

Finn feels the sudden urge to ask Cassian… _something._

He’s not quite sure what that is.

More so, Finn’s too afraid to ask. What if Cassian was seeking some peace and quiet, like Finn had originally wanted? For some odd reason, Finn couldn’t bear the prospect of upsetting the older man with his amateurish questions, despite Cassian’s open posture saying otherwise.

 _Besides,_ Finn thinks, Cassian wouldn’t have chosen to sit beside him in the empty mess if he wasn’t willing to chat.

Resolve forming, Finn’s gaze drops to Cassian’s clothes.

“You fought in the Rebellion?” If he had to guess, Cassian appeared to be in his thirties which was too young to be a veteran of the Galactic Civil War. But who knows? He could be humanoid, or kriff, someone could’ve thrown him in carbonite. The clothes he’s wearing scream Imperial-era.

“I did.” His hand grazes the patches on his jacket. “You’re observant.”

“It happens, it’s an asset for a stromtroop-”

_Fark._

Finn ducks his gaze away from the other man, afraid of what he might see. Finn runs his fingers around the curvature of his cup, throat too tight to drink from it. When he finally builds up the courage to glance at Cassian, his expression hasn’t changed. The look in his eyes has grown thoughtful, but Finn doesn’t sense fear. No repulsion. No anger.

In fact, the beginnings of a smile touches Cassian’s lips. “You defected.”

It’s not a question, or an accusation. A simple statement.

“Yeah.” Finn’s voice wavers, then he takes a sip of water, keeping his eyes fixed on his cup. Markings on the side indicate the temperature and amount of water remaining.

“I defected,” he repeats, this time with a sense of pride.

Cassian leans back in his seat, regarding Finn closely. “I know someone who defected once – from the Empire, a long time ago. It takes a lot of bravery.”

Finn closes his eyes. This is what he’d been wanting to avoid – the glorified hero treatment. He braces himself for what comes next.

“It cost him everything.”

He opens his eyes, startled. Finn finds himself looking right into Cassian’s eyes which have grown distant. He’d describe them as sad, almost, if it wasn’t for the steady cadence of his voice.

“He lost his home, his family… the Empire hated him, obviously, he must’ve lost all the friends he worked with, but the Rebels…. The Rebels were wary of him too.”

Finn frowns, leaning forward in his seat.

“Were they always afraid of him?” he asks. Cassian’s gaze shift back to study the boy in front of him. His eyes flicker over Finn’s jacket with masked interest.

“There will always,” he replies, leaning closer, “be people who don’t see you for what you are. Prejudice, whatever it is, they’ll have an image of what you should be stuck in their heads. Whatever you do, you can’t change that. Some people view see the galaxy as filled with only heroes and villains.”

This is not what Finn had hoped to hear. His dismay must be evident in his expression because Cassian turns to avoid his gaze and looks out the viewport.

“I’ve spent my life in the grey space. I’ve seen so many planets, so many people. Good people who betrayed me. Bad people who saved me. Even in the worst of times, there’s always something good in the galaxy. A flicker of hope that people will change.”

Cassian turns back to look at Finn. He’s suddenly aware of his dishevelment: the rumpled sleep clothes, the worn-out jacket that hangs loosely over his shoulders – he’s a mess, not remotely the fine solider he should be.

Finn straightens in his seat.

“They call him a hero now,” Cassian adds quietly. “But I think he prefers to be remembered as a friend.” He tilts his head, gaze softening as his eyes meet Finn’s. “That sounds nice, don’t you agree?” Cassian’s expression is gentle, even earnest. It makes Finn feel like his answer is worth everything in the galaxy.

A warmth settles in his chest. _A friend_.

Hero, soldier, traitor. These are labels that don’t quite fit.

But _friend?_

The look in Rey’s eyes as they escaped on the Falcon.

The warmth of Poe’s hug as they ran to each other on D’Qar.

He could be a _friend._

When he replies, Finn’s smiling. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.” He feels a rush of warmth as he says it.

“I’m glad you think so too.” The lines around Cassian’s mouth turn up slightly.

They fall back into an easy silence for the rest of the night until Finn jerks awake. He’s barely caught himself before he could nod off and fall from his chair.

He’s grateful he can’t blush and avoids Cassian’s slightly amused glance.

“I should – I’m gonna go back. To sl-uh, my quarters.”

Something plays at the corner of Cassian’s mouth. “Of course. Sleep well.”

Finn rises from his chair and is about to leave when he stops in his tracks.

“It was a pleasure talking to you,” Finn adds.

He means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally supposed to be a oneshot - a single conversation between these two. then it kept growing and I realized it fit multiple prompts, so I split it into 3 different conversations (so they may not perfectly fit each day's prompt)
> 
> the title here alludes to the north star (Polaris) which is used for navigation - to find one's way back home. we call it Dhurva, and it's the name of a character known for his dedication and loyalty.


	2. the winter sky’s hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for finn week day 5: hero

It’s the second night of his lowered pain medication and sleep escapes Finn once again.

It’s not just sleeplessness that motivates him to get out of bed, however. He feels a pull, tugging him gently as he aimlessly ambles down the winding corridors.

He’s not surprised when he stops walking at the entrance to the mess.

It feels right. He’s not sure why pouring a glass of water causes something to resonate in his bones, but he doesn’t mind the feeling. It would be a lot easier if he could just drink from the canteen in his room and feel the same way.

The Rodian lady nods at him and Finn smiles back. He half turns, cup in hand, before reconsidering and taking a sudden step back towards the kitchen.

She’s already resumed her work. Finn hears the rhythmic _chop chop chop_ of a blade. He’s mesmerized by her work with the knife. In the First Order, only droids work in the kitchen and they use mechanized slicers. In the Resistance, everyone does their share of the menial labour – mostly because they can’t spare the droids to do it.

When the Rodian looks up again, she’s startled.

“Erm,” he says, suddenly very aware of himself. “What’s your name?” Finn asks, rocking forward in his boots.

“Saalia,” she says. “You’re Finn.”

“I-uh-yeah.” Finn winces at his ineloquence. “Nice to meet you.”

She nods. “Do you need anything?”

“Uh, no. Thanks.”

“Alright. Have a nice evening.”

Saalia turns back to her work. Finn falls back on his heels, wondering what to make of the abrupt conversation. He’s so lost in thought he almost misses Cassian sitting in his seat, and blinks when his presence registers in his mind.

“Can I join you?”

Cassian turns away from the viewport to look up at him. He gestures to the empty seat across from him. “Finn. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see _you._ Well, I mean, if it didn’t mean I was having issues sleeping.”

A grin tugs at the corner of Cassian’s mouth, contrasting the flash of a sympathetic look crossing his face.

Finn settles into his seat and they fall into an amicable silence. He doesn’t feel the need to talk, finding reassurance from Cassian’s presence alone. It’s unlike anything else he’s ever felt.

Finn’s grown used to the uneasiness he feels under the scrutinizing stare of silent strangers – and overly inquisitive ones. Cassian, however, exudes warmth and welcome without uttering a single word. He’s more relaxed today, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, and inclines his head when he catches Finn staring.

It’s the same ease Finn gets from Poe’s vibrant aura. The same positive energy that Rey buzzes with. Cassian’s impression on him is subtler, though. He could attribute it to age but even Leia’s dignified air demands more from Finn’s senses than Cassian’s gentle hum of warmth.

It’s his gravitas, Finn realizes. A hint of sadness weighing down his casual appearance. A sombre undercurrent that levels out the cacophony of energies into perfect harmony. A hurt that makes him ache – but Cassian carries it without reluctance.

His is a tainted sort of peace.

It calls to Finn. It feels right, as if it is his own.

Finn sets his chin in his palm, toying with the glass of water he no longer feels the need to drink. “I-I was thinking,” he starts hesitantly, preoccupied watching the water slosh up to the rim. “Your friend, the defector – you don’t have to tell me anything, you know, if you don’t want to, but… what was he like?”

“He was the bravest man I ever met,” Cassian replies without hesitation. “He was terrified but determined to do the right thing.”

Finn doesn’t remember if he’s ever heard anyone say the word _terrified_ with such pride. Cassian meets his quizzical look with a grim expression.

“Everyone is scared, Finn.”

“I feel like I’m more scared than others,” Finn admits. For some reason, he has no qualms sharing this, his deepest secret, with Cassian. Perhaps his tongue loosens without sleep, but it’s more likely because Cassian seems so willing to listen. Even Poe doesn’t know – he’d only confessed his fears to Rey, and the battles he’d been in since may have convinced her otherwise. “Everyone here is willing to die for the Resistance, and… and I just want to run. Save myself. Save the ones I… know.”

Finn’s ashamed to face Cassian now, so he’s surprised when the other man reaches out and briefly touches his hand.

“Fear and anger aren’t anything to be ashamed of, especially when it comes to war,” Cassian says softly and Finn finds himself nodding. “Everyone is scared. But they also have something that helps them overcome that fear. For some it’s a cause.”

“Like the Resistance?”

Cassian nods. “For me, it was the Rebellion. The Rebellion, the Resistance, they’re symbols of hope. The belief that good will prevail over evil.” Cassian’s tone shifts. “I was - am willing to die for the cause, and I know many who did.”

Finn lowers his eyes, sadness and shame creeping up on him. _He’s lived to see the Empire fall,_ he realizes, _only for the First Order to rise_. Finn’s a little disgusted at himself for being part of it. The sheer dismay at the entire situation settles over him like a blanket, and yet Cassian looks fondly at him.

“Then there’s Leia. She, and others like her, believe the Resistance to be a cause worth _living_ for. She’s lived a life that proves it.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks.

“You’ve known her for a long time?” Finn asks quietly, in awe. He feels Cassian’s grip on him tighten briefly.

“Yeah. She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her.”

Cassian leans forwards with a tilt of his head, pulling his hand away from Finn’s. Finn already misses the warmth.

“You must have friends here that remind you of her.”

 _Poe,_ Finn thinks. _Rey._ Filled with kindness in a cruel galaxy, willing to do anything to make things right. Determined, caring – but also fierce.

And then there’s him. Selfish, scared, a coward. Only does what’s best for him – and, Finn thinks sheepishly, those he likes. He struggles to meet Cassian’s eyes.

“I do.”

“Not all of us can be her, though.”

Finn raises his head, elbows pressed to the table, and shoots the other man a look.

“Some people can’t dedicate their lives to a cause. A concept. Words like freedom, hope, they’re vague and hard to grasp. Being honest, most of the beings in this universe,” Cassian gestures out the viewport to the smattering of star systems across the canvas of the galaxy, “wouldn’t fight for a cause.”

Finn blinks slowly, staring up at Cassian through hooded eyes.

“But they still find something to fight for?”

Cassian nods.

“They fight for _people._ ”

Finn can feel his nose scrunch up. “People? Like, like a leader, like-” _Phasma?_ “Leia?”

Cassian shakes his head slowly and straightens in his seat.

“I knew a woman – a rebel, in a different sense of the term. She saw everything at the personal level – she understood _people,_ connections between _beings._ People are who hurt her. Sure, the Empire was the cause of our suffering, but it’s hard to think about things you can’t see when reason you’re starving on the streets.”

Finn had only starved once: as he traversed the scorching, relentless sand dunes of Jakku. Meals served by the First Order were never _enough,_ just the bare minimum nutritional intake delivered to their plates in an unappetizing heap. It could have been better, but Finn was grateful it was never worse - at least, he’d never earned the punishment.

Finn tries hard not to think about the days his squad was missing a member, days where there was a noticeable absence at their usual dining table. How, when they returned, they’d make a point of keeping their helmet on – to hide the dark bags Finn knew lined their eyes.

The First Order had never _punished_ Finn – at least, not in his own unreliable memory.

He fights back the feeling of needles pricking at his skin.

Finn glances up, suddenly realizing that Cassian had stopped talking to watch him closely. Something’s shifted in the depths of his eyes. He’s looking for something in Finn’s expression, and Finn feels as though his soul is bare open for him to scrutinize.

“If you ever need to talk,” Cassian starts, and Finn can already feel himself withdrawing.

Everyone always said the same thing. But who ever knew what it was like to be raised from birth to be a soldier? To have served the very people set on destroying you and everything that’s ever been kind to you?

“Thank you,” Finn replies lamely, “but I’m fine, thanks. I think I’m just getting tired, actually.’”

Cassian offers him a sad, thin lipped smile. The ship shifts slightly, turning its course, and the starlight from the window falls across Finn’s face, reflects in Cassian’s eyes. Something compels Finn to stay but he rises from his seat.

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be here,” Cassian adds before Finn slinks away.

* * *

 

The previous nights' lack of sleep finally take their toll, and the next night he sleeps deeply. His mind has never been this quiet – other than stretch of unconsciousness after his confrontation with Ren.

“That you _lost,_ ” a voice hisses.

Finn wakes up with a start. He shoots upward in his bed to find the all too familiar sight of Phasma’s chrome helmet peering down at him.

The air is knocked out of his lungs.

“I expected better of you, FN-2187.”

Gone are his run-down Resistance quarters. Gone is the warmth of his blankets. He’s lying on a neatly made bed, surrounded by the white and black walls of a First Order ship. The crisp white walls meet gleaming black floors in a sharp line that divides durasteel from seamless tile. They seem to shrink closer and closer together, trapping him into a box.

He glances down at his body.

Gone are his bedclothes.

He’s wearing his stormtrooper armour.

The bed disappears.

FN-2187 is sprawled out on a sparring mat. His black innerwear is drenched in sweat. He strains for air, breath rapid and laboured. The lens of his helmet narrows his vision. Above him stands a trooper with a electrostaff clutched in his hand.

“ _Traitor._ ”

It’s Slip.

Phasma watches impassively from the sidelines as, despite the rules of sparring, Slip brings the staff down over his body.

He can’t stop the blow.

The ground under him is freezing, and he shivers in the worn leather of his jacket. Snowflakes fall gently around him, blind to the sight of the broken man they envelop.

Rey screams his name.

“ _Finn!”_ Her voice is torn, anguish and rage ripping it apart just as Ren strikes.

She falls beside him, red leaching into the cold white of the snow.

 _“I’m gonna call you Finn,”_ Poe says gently, and it’s Finn that screams Poe’s name as the TIE fighter is swallowed by the sand. He runs away from the wreckage, but his feet are sucked into the endless sand dunes of Jakku. They pull him in, deeper and deeper into the hot sand, and then he falls, burning with shame.

Maz peers at him with wide, knowing eyes. She stares right through him, past the Resistance jacket, past the stormtrooper clothes, past his bravado and right at his heart.

“…of a man who wants to run,” she spits out, disgusted, and jabs a finger at his heart.

He jolts awake gasping for air, clothes soaked with sweat.

Finn – _Finn_ – fumbles for the glass of water at his bedside table, knocking it over. It crashes to the floor, duraplast clanging as it hits the ground. His palm falls flat against the spot that it used to occupy.

He needs to talk to Cassian.

* * *

Finn had quickly splashed his face in his ‘fresher before seeking out Cassian, but as soon as they lock eyes he knows the other man suspects something.

Cassian rises before Finn can even sit down.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” he snaps, then grimaces. “Sorry. Thanks for asking, but, I’m fine.”

Cassian stares at him, and he remembers Maz’s knowing gaze.

 _He knows I’m a coward, too_.

He braces himself for a reprimand. Instead, he feels Cassian’s arm on his upper arm.

“Sit, Finn,” he says gently. “I’ll grab you some water.”

* * *

Cassian sets a cup of water down on the table in front of Finn.

“Thanks,” he says, “you really didn’t have to-“

“No, don’t worry about it,” Cassian enthuses. “I’ve had my fair share of nightmares.”

“It was that obvious, huh,” Finn lifts the cup and mumbles into it, avoiding Cassian’s gaze.

Cassian slowly lets out a breath as he sits down in the chair beside Finn.

“Only to someone who was looking,” he replies softly. Finn set’s the cup down, curiously already dispelling the fog from his nightmare. “I know you think I’m just saying what everyone else says, but…”

For the first time since Finn’s known Cassian, he falters. His gaze is downcast, fixed at his feet. Finn realizes he’s hiding his shame.

“I was a _spy_ for the Rebellion. I’ve been undercover as an Imperial officer. Missions could take months. Sometimes I’d spend a year living under a different identity. It adds up, you know. I’d honestly lost my sense of self.” Cassian’s grown quieter, his voice strained.

Finn hears the clatter of a tray falling in the kitchen, and the clanging noise echoes through the empty mess.

“I know it’s different from what you must have experienced… but you might understand where I’m coming from.” Cassian looks up now and faces Finn. The light from outside falls directly on his face, casting parts of it into defined shadows that accentuate the hard lines of his face.  His features are pinched, mouth drawn into a line. “There were times,” Cassian swallows. “There were times where I had to…. had to kill other rebels to keep up my cover."

Finn’s lips part in surprise.

“I’ve had to kill informants, bystanders who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Honestly, even Imperials who I knew were doing awful things – I just hated pulling the trigger. I hated seeing the look on their faces. The hurt, the betrayal – it was always the worst when it was someone who trusted _me._ Most times it was just an assassination mission, someone who deserved to die, but the rest… I consoled myself that I was saving them from a worse end – torture, that is.”

Finn recalls Slip, dying in his arms. Hadn’t Poe been the one that shot him?

He closes his eyes, recalling the troopers and soldiers he’s killed since escaping the First Order. Almost all of them had been taken as children, like himself, and never had the opportunity to know anything other than warfare. But he never had another choice.

Finn knows if he had the chance, he would’ve tried to convince them. Instead, he wears the label of _traitor_ like a burden.

He recognizes the look in Cassian’s eyes, now.

From the mirror.

“You did the best you could. You were doing the right thing – killing one person, no matter who they were, saved thousands. Millions, maybe,” Finn says.

Cassian clasps Finn’s hand in his – his fingers are cold. “So you understand me,” he says hoarsely, then clears his throat. “Does that prove I’ll understand you?”

Finn looks down at their intertwined hands, then up at Cassian’s empathetic gaze. The words are slow at first, but the eventually begin to spill unfettered from his lips. Tales of hardship, of despair – anger becoming sadness, exhaustion.

Most importantly, loneliness. The desolation inside his helmet, trapped in his quarters. Seeing the other cadets fall into easy friendship with each other, while Finn was at once too good and too bad at being a trooper to fit in. He’d never realized the depth of his hurt until now, as he steps away to study the words he’s spoken into existence.

It would scare him, if it wasn’t for Cassian’s firm grip on his hands. He doesn’t let go until Finn’s done.

Finn gives Cassian a shaky smile before swiping at his eyes. His sleeve comes back damp, unshed tears soaking through his sleepshirt. His cheeks burn with shame.

“Sorry-”

Cassian’s mouth twists into a half-frown. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. The bravest thing you can do is to share your worst moments.”

With that, Cassian begins to share his story.

Of a childhood Finn grows envious of until it’s swept away by the Empire.

Of becoming a fighter – while still a child - to save others from his fate.

Of a tentative solace found in the Rebellion, the numbing cycle of missions and debriefs.

Cassian tells Finn about how he’d lost everything - until he met the defectors and outcasts that reminded him of the most precious thing he had: hope.

That’s where Cassian stops, and gently, with a voice deep with sorrow but eyes light with memories, tells Finn he should get some rest.

When Finn returns to his bed, his heart is heavy but the burden on his shoulders has lightened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this title refers to Orion, whose constellation across many cultures represents an archer: a hunter, a hero. (it's also a slight play on the skywalker legacy) 
> 
> also I'd like to add here, that in this fic Finn tends to beat himself up and misremember things (like how he thinks Maz is accusing him when she's merely making an observation) While I don't agree with how he sees himself (at this point) I do believe this is what he's struggling with throughout TLJ and such.
> 
> ALSO big thank you to @pastandfuturequeen for working out the Most Stubborn Paragraph Ever with me, bless you.


	3. the soldier’s first prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for finn week day 6: hope

He shivers.

Wind picks up around him, ruffling his clothes and sending snowflakes careening into each other as they tumble out of the sky to the ground. He’s surrounded by snowdrifts. As he takes a step forward, his boots sink into the snow.

It’s beautiful. Unlike the dark forests of Starkiller, a world of soft white unfolds in front of his eyes. He’s never known white to be a soothing colour, nor has he known snow to be gentle, but here, he walks around in a delighted trance.

Packed snow begins to crunch under his feet as Finn realizes he’s made his way onto a well-worn path. Flakes lazily swirl around him as he walks, caressing his skin and catching in his eyelashes.

It’s kind of nice.

He follows the path into a settlement. He’s greeted by a row of low, flat houses. As he approaches, two figures emerge from one of the doors.

He squints, trying to make out their features. It’s a woman and a child – the latter bundled up in so many layers they look more like a ball of fabric than a sentient. The child bursts away from their mother’s arms as soon as they exit their home.

The child doesn’t heed their mother’s warning – but cheerful – calls and immediately begins to chase snowflakes. Finn grins, watching as the child runs around gleefully, engrossed in the natural world despite the cold weather that renders their nose and chubby cheeks a bright red.

Finn’s close now, close enough that the mother should be able to see him. She doesn’t notice, probably focused on her child. As Finn passes, he catches sight of the boy’s eyes sparkling and the outlines of a broad smile under his scarf.

Something falls in place. Something familiar lurks in that boy’s face -

A question springs to his lips and he turns to ask the mother. He gets a better glimpse of her features: dark eyes, lingering on the cusp of black, and slightly lighter hair that falls in waves over her shoulders. Again, a familiarity echoes in the hard lines of her features. 

Her expression changes from delight to horror.

She’s looking past him.

Finn turns, looking past the path and towards the horizon.

The outline of a ship setting in the distance.

Finn doesn’t know if it’s the Republic or the Separatists or the Empire but fear claws its way up his throat. He turns, intending to scream for them to run and hide, but the two are already gone.

The sun has set. The sky is dark, not the comfortable black of space he’s used to, but a dark grey, churning with unease. The snow is no longer pristine: where it exists, it is tinted a sickly grey-green. The ground under his feet is slippery with half-melted ice, and if he was paying attention he’d notice large swathes of rock peeking out from under the melted surface. Finn’s gaze is elsewhere though. Transfixed in horror, Finn stares blankly at two clonetroopers knocking on the door.

Finn’s heart sinks to his stomach even as he runs.

By the time he makes it to the door the two troopers have already cuffed the mother. He brushes past her as they pull her away – she doesn’t flinch at his touch.

She says something. Finn’s too stunned by how young she looks – she isn’t much older than he is – to process what she said until they’re gone from sight.

_“Be brave, Cassi.”_

Cassian.

Cassian, older and taller, but still a mere child with a youthful roundness to his features that doesn’t extend to his thin frame, clutches a scuffed up blaster with a half empty charge. He waits in an alleyway, waiting for the exact moment when an Imperial officer walks by, leading a group of prisoners.

Finn watches, frozen in place, as Cassian raises his blaster and fires. The boy is too young to know how to shoot targets from this distance, at this angle.

Finn is reminded of himself.

He lowers his eyes, staring at the blood splattering on freshly fallen snow. It burns in his vision, the bright contrast of red and white so blinding – and so reminiscent of Slip’s blood on his helmet - that Finn staggers back, disoriented.

Finn gasps, expecting hilly air to quench his breathlessness.

Instead, dusty, scented air fills his lungs.

Finn blinks, trying to clear his vision.

He’s standing in a market square in what appears to be a desert planet. It’s a complete turnaround from the desolation of Jakku as people rush to and fro, carrying their goods and avoiding the watchful eyes of stormtroopers stationed at regular intervals. Fabrics of varying colours and textures float in the air, dangling from laundry lines. A thousand languages, ancient and new, reverberate through the air.

It’s overwhelming. Finn stumbles forward.

Something tugs at the leg of his pants.

Finn looks down and meets the wide-eyed expression of a little boy. It’s not Cassian. This boy has long, black hair tied up into a messy ponytail. His skin is darker, reminiscent of the shades of what must be his native planet. The shirt he wears hangs around his frame and streaks of engine oil line the cuffs of his sleeves and the bridge of his nose.

Finn crouches down to regard the boy, a slight smile forming at the sight of goggles too big for to wear hanging loosely from a strap on the boy’s neck.

“What is it, buddy?”

The boy leans close to whisper in Finn’s ear. It’s a language Finn’s never heard before, but he understands the strained tones of the clearly enunciated words. The horror and knowledge in them is too clear for just a mere child:

“It’s coming.”

“What?” Finn asks in Basic.

The boy points over his shoulder.

Finn turns. The solitary star of the planet is slowly being obscured by an eclipse – but it must be no regular eclipse, for the people around him begin to scream. Finn whips around to look for the boy, but he’s disappeared. He stands, a solitary fixed figure as people sprint around him, shrieking. He scans the crowd, hoping to find someone he can ask what’s going on.

It’s not until a solitary flash of green strikes the ground, sending catastrophic rumbles through the planet’s crust, that Finn realizes what he’s seeing.

The Death Star.

This must be Jedha.

Fear takes over his senses and he scrambles for cover. He sprints, running away from the too-loud too-panicked crowds and towards the empty desert. He runs, and runs, and swears he’ll never go back to a desert planet ever again.

Then he begins to see _trees_ dotting the horizon.

Finn, unlike Rey, has seen his fair share of flora and fauna. Even if not in person, one thing the First Order was good for was a well-rounded education. Finn immediately recognizes the palm trees. The temperature has shifted. The humid air clings to his skin. It’s hot enough that Finn shrugs off his jacket and ties it around his waist as he walks.

He walks, and he walks, and he walks.

When he turns back to look back at the high walls of the city, all the buildings of Jedha are gone. Not destroyed for there is no rubble. Only sandunes – lighter and finer than the ones of Jakku – are visible on the horizon

The Death Star, however, remains a permanent fixture high in the sky behind him.

Finn shudders and turns back to face his path.

He chokes back a yelp of surprise.

It would be a beautiful sight. Pale blue waves lap gently at the beach, the sound of them reaching up to caress the land reminiscent of a long-lost lullaby.

_Trust me. All is as I will it._

_Trust me. All is as I will it._

_Trust me. All is as I will it._

Half of Finn’s view, however, is obscured by a young woman looking up at him with narrowed green eyes. She purses her lips when his gaze returns to hers.

“Uh, hi?” he asks.

“You’re Finn,” the girl says bluntly.

He stares at her blankly, hearing Basic for the first time… _today? Tonight? How does time work in dreams?_

“I am. And you are…?”

The girl’s lips quirk upwards, betraying the serious look on her face. “That’s a hard question to answer.”

“Uh… okay?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here to give you this,” the girl says, and juts her chin out toward Finn’s hand. “Reach out.”

Finn obliges, raising his hand and opening it so his palm faces upward.

“Close your eyes.”

Finn wrinkles his nose. “Don’t play any games-”

“I won’t,” the girl snaps, then softens. “Don’t worry, I promise.” As she speaks, the scenery around them changes. The shores of the beach shift from a pale tan to a rich black. He’s only read of such things so to bear witness a volcanic beach with his own eyes is incredible. Their vibrancy mimics the hue of mineral rich soil but is black instead of brown. The water shifts colours as well, gaining a deep, ethereal blue hue.

When he looks down he’s standing in lush, emerald grass.

He looks back up at the girl.

“Come on,” she encourages with a tilt of her head. “Trust me.”

Finn closes his eyes.

Something cold falls into his outstretched hand. He closes it into a fist and feels hard edges press against the lines of his palm.

When he opens his eyes, he’s back in his bed, surrounded with the familiar four walls of his quarters.

Carefully, eyes adjusting to the scant light of the nightcycle, he uncurls his fist.

In his hand he sees a single, glass-like jewel, dangling from a thin black cord.

_All is as I will it._

He blinks.

It's gone.

* * *

Finn’s sitting alone on a crate. A hydrospanner dangles from his fingertips, the task at hand forgotten. He’s not yet cleared for duty but couldn’t sit idle any longer - had to keep his mind off things - and had offered to help tidy up Poe’s ship.

The pilot had lingered awhile to chat but then Poe patted Finn on the shoulder and said: “I think you want some quiet.”

Finn had protested, initially, but Poe had shaken his head and shushed him gently.

“We all need it sometimes. You aren’t hur-bothering me if you need it.”

Finn had awkwardly relented and Poe had left. That had been earlier this morning.

Now Finn sits alone with his thoughts, musing over the odd dreams he’d had last night. The creak of the door sliding open draws Finn’s gaze away from the patch of oil staining the tile between his muddy boots. A greeting to Poe is on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it back when he realizes it’s Cassian.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Finn remarks. “I thought you only showed up during the night cycle.”

“Ah, well, even people like me like to sit with ships every so often.”

“Oh, don’t touch it, Poe would kill you. I had to convince him to let me take the external panels off to clean them.”

“Dameron?”

The lighting shifts as Cassian steps forward into the workshop, casting ghostly shadows across his features.

“Yes, are there other Poes in the Resistance?”

Cassian shrugs as he sits down beside Finn on the upturned crate. “I was just checking,” he says. “I’m not bothering you, am I? I thought I’d spooked you-”

“No, not at all.” Finn sets down the spanner beside his discarded toolkit.

Finn’s met with Cassian’s intrigued gaze. It’s funny, how the same color eyes look so different on different people. In the First Order the cadets spent most of their time in their armor – they had very little time to catch glimpses of their peers’ actual faces. They identified each other by the cadence of their voice and the scratches on their gear – even after they’d taken off their armour for the day.

Now everything’s changed, and ever since Maz had climbed up onto that table and peered right through him, Finn can’t help but notice other people’s eyes. Especially brown ones – supposedly like his. Where his are filled with doubt, though, Poe’s are bright, Rey’s are bold, and Leia’s are knowing.

Cassian’s are a mix of them all – but the sombre look of his eyes isn’t rooted in doubt like Finn.

“I-“ he starts, struggling to find the right words to begin. “I-I’d like to hear about that girl,” Finn manages to force the words out. “The rebel, who fought for people?”

Cassian’s shoulders raise a little as he inhales, and Finn wonders if he’s made a misstep.

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I think you need to hear this, actually.” Cassian tilts his head, lower lip parting. “You’ve felt abandoned before, right?

Finn remembers the horrible hours he spent mourning Poe under Jakku’s scorching sun. The agonizing hours on the way to Starkiller spent wondering if Rey was even alive. The many nights he spent alone in his quarters as a cadet, wondering if his family had willingly given him – as some had – to the First Order.  

“Yeah.”

“You can only be abandoned by people, right?”

Finn looks askance at Cassian. “Yeah?” he replies slowly, drawn out with confusion.

“But you can only be _loved_ by people.” Cassian reaches down and picks up the spanner. Finn hums, nodding slowly. “You can only be abandoned by people who you love.”

Finn blinks. He’d never thought of it that way.

“My friend was angry. We all were back then – the Empire, even the Republic, had taken so much from us.” The look in Cassian’s eyes is distant as he runs a thumb along the grime of the spanner. “I channeled my anger into the fight. I gave everything to the cause. When I met her, she was hurt and running from anything that could try and hurt her again.”

Cassian’s eyes refocus on Finn’s face, searching for approval. Finn’s heart begins to hammer against his chest as he realizes what the other man is saying.

_He’s talking about you._

“When I met her, I was frustrated. I’d just met my other friend, the man who defected. He had given up everything to do the right thing, and here I was dealing with this criminal who was on the run from the Empire and her conscience.”

“Criminal?”

A brief spark flickers over Cassian’s features.

“Yeah. She loved stealing from the Empire.” He pauses, mouth listing into a wry smirk, as if he had made a joke. “Anyways, I tried to help her realize that we aren’t what happens to us – we’re what we choose to do.”

“And what did she do? Keep running?” Finn interjects, voice tinged with disgust.

“What I realized if she had, it wouldn’t have been her fault. There’s no shame in running, not when you’ve been hurt so badly. But… she didn’t.”

“She fought?”

“She saw what we were doing – and she realized that the people who abandoned her, they weren’t choosing to leave _her,_ they had just chosen to fight to _save_ her. She decided to respect that and continue their fight.”

“That sounds heroic.”

Cassian’s mouth twitches upwards. “Yeah. That’s what they call her now.”

Finn blinks, trying to register the expression on Cassian’s face. “Did she…”

Cassian’s lips press into a line, and he sets the spanner between them on the crate.

“She died, yes. She died fighting for what she loved.”

“A _person_? She died for a lover?”

The look Cassian gives him is bittersweet. “No, there was no time for love in war. She died for… well, hope. She died hoping she – we – would be the last abandoned children. She died knowing that deciding not to run away, deciding to turn around and fight – she knew her pain meant something since she chose to act.”

“Did it?”

Cassian looks away, towards Poe’s ship and the scorch marks dusting its wings.

“It changed the fate of the galaxy.”

“Dying for hope…. I could never do that,” Finn replies earnestly.

“You don’t have to,” Cassian says, shaking his head slightly. “I’m telling you her story so I can show you how she helped me realize something. She reminded me _why_ I was fighting. Not just out of loyalty to a cause, or hatred of an Empire, but because of people. For people.”

“For them to be safe,” Finn drawls slowly. “You fought to keep them safe.”

“Exactly.” Cassian takes Finn’s hand in his. “I’d been fighting while hoping. She reminded me I could fight _for_ hope. Out of love, even – it’s how I’d started fighting anyways. They’re the same thing.”

Finn bites into his lower lip, deep in thought.

“We need people to think of the big picture,” Cassian adds. “Like me, or Leia, even your friend Poe. To cut our losses and keep moving forward. But without compassion we wouldn’t be here in the first place. Hope and love, that is what keeps rebellions alive. It’s small acts of kindness that defeat evil more than anything else. It’s small acts of love that defeated the Empire.”

Finn squeezes Cassian’s hand. “That sounds right but… I don’t know if I have it in me to do it.”

 “You already are, Finn. That’s why you’re here. I sense… you’re the love, you know.” A smile plays on Cassian’s lips and it reaches his eyes. “You may not be cut out for fighting – but you seem to be the type to love.”

Finn makes a face. “Sense? Are you like, a Jedi?”

Cassian chuckles, and Finn marvels at it. “Stars, no. I’ve been recruiting for the Rebellion for a long time. You get good at reading people.”

Finn frowns and he pulls away from Cassian’s grip. “So you’re trying to recruit me to the Resistance?”

“Your heart is already here, Finn. It’s up to you whether you stay. And let me tell you, there’s no shame in leaving.” Cassian shifts closer, voice dropping lower.  “There’s nothing wrong in looking out for yourself. But you’re here, and that _means_ something. You care about others, that’s why you helped Poe and Rey. Rebellions, they happen because people care for other people.”

“I… I get it now.”

Finn inhales deeply. He’s not quite sure to make of this. Suddenly everything begins to make sense. He could join the Resistance – he’s _capable_. And like Cassian had said, he’s already here.

If not for the greater good, he could be here for Poe and Rey. And Leia and BB8 and Chewie and – and even Saalia, who’d given him an extra serving of fruit this morning.

Maybe he could even find his family.

Cassian squeezes Finn’s hand and when he looks up the other man is smiling – broadly, unlike the gentle, half-sardonic smirks Finn’s gotten accustomed to.

“You’re strong enough to defect -  you’ll do just fine in the Resistance. Who knows? You might even find home here.”

“For sure,” Finn replies, then grins. “Thank you, Cassian, – you’ve done so much for me these past few nights.”

“Anything I can do to help,” Cassian says, then slowly rises to his feet with a mock grumble. “My back isn’t as good as it used to be,” he mutters.

Finn laughs. “I feel that.” Cassian looks down at him, smile faded but still glimmering in his eyes.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” he says.

Finn grins up at him, not quite sure whether to stand up and shake his hand or even hug him. It's Cassian that decides to roughly squeeze his shoulders.

"Thanks," Finn mumbles.

"It was an honor to meet you, Finn." 

Finn watches Cassian leave, gaze on his back into the door falls shut. 

* * *

Finn doesn’t see Cassian ever again.

* * *

It takes three days before his absence even registers in Finn’s mind.

* * *

It takes two days for Finn to scour the Resistance personnel database for Cassian’s name. He wonders whether he should ask around before realizing he doesn’t know a surname or a title.

It takes another two days for him to find a match. Two days of searching that knock Finn’s pride down a notch. Up until then he’d been proud of his research skills – after all, it was how he knew things that the First Order never wanted to know.

It included a little illegal slicing.

Now, just over a standard week later, Finn is face to face with a holo. It’s old, but Cassian looks the same. His expression is serious, eyes dark and focused offscreen. He’s wearing the same brown jacket Finn recognizes but it’s less rumpled.

_> > Captain Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence._

_A spy,_ Finn recalls. It must be him.

Then his eyes fall to the lines of data below.

_> > Succesful Missions: 33 _

_> > Compromises: 0 _

Finn makes an impressed sound before frowning at the next line.

>> _Targets neutralized: 15_

Fifteen documented assassinations – fifteen official targets taken out. Not including collateral damage and unplanned incidences. Finn scrolls, wondering how long Cassian had been with the Rebellion and how many missions he’d averaged per year -

_> > Joined: before 12 BBY._

_> > Died on duty: 0 BBY._

Finn doesn’t hear his datapad clatter to the floor.

* * *

It takes him the rest of the day to work up the nerve to read the rest of the file.

* * *

It takes him most of the night to get through it, until he finds what he’s looking for.

He’d died in the Battle of Scarif.

He’d died getting the Death Star plans.

_Finn had been talking to a ghost._

* * *

It takes him another week to find the names of Cassian’s friends. As non-members of the Rebel Alliance, there was hardly any documented information in old Rebellion databanks, and the Empire had worked hard to erase the existence of every threat to its citizens’ loyalty.

_Bodhi Rook. The informant._

Finn stares at the pixelated image, the hesitant smile, the touch of a smirk. 

_Jyn Erso. The engineer’s daughter._

Her green eyes stare right through him.

* * *

 It takes another sleepless night before Finn gathers up the strength to knock at the door to Leia’s personal quarters.

When the door slides open he’s met with a solemn, knowing expression.

“I need to talk to you."

Leia inclines her head, and Finn has a feeling she’d been waiting for him.

“I know. Come inside, Finn.”  

When Finn steps past the threshold, the door falls shut behind him and on his past. For once, he’s not afraid of the future.

He’s hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this title refers to the sun. the titles are vague as in Star Wars there are many star/solar systems so obviously every system has it's own sun and constellations... but I'd like to think some things are universal. like, reverence for a system's sun, the object of every day's first prayer.


End file.
